The joining
by Voluntary Exile
Summary: an unlikely band of heroes is thrown together by a strange battle. Please review for a poor skitso. Ch.3 has been almost completly rewritten so read it again.
1. unlikely allies

Authors note: This is a prologue to The Three, which I eventually will finish (if, by a lucky happenstance, my head is not bashed in, in the next week). Review or I will send a plague upon all your houses.  
  
Laor stood, studying the seen before him with silent contemplation. Three weeks since he had left the dock of Kingsport in Westmarch and now he came to Tristram, the ruined Rogue town. His horse he had long since given up to a group of fallen, who, in a cannibalistic frenzy, tore the beast apart.  
He looked now upon the town of Tristram, demon infested, with some buildings still burning. He surveyed the town, Knowing that any of his fellow paladins that were still alive might come as well. There had been rumors of a demon lord awakening, some claiming it was Diablo himself. He doubted that, for there would be no one left to spread rumors if the lord of Terror had truly escaped the captivity of his soulstone.  
From behind him, the Paladin could here the scrabbling of fallen. He slowly moved his hand to his chest, where three stilettos lay sheathed. Picking the middle one he spun around, hitting the first fallen square in the chest. Blood spurted from the wound, tainting the ground red. He immediately saw his move had been a mistake, when the fallen shaman let forth a ball of fire. Rolling easily out of the way, he thanked the gods he sold his plate armor for the studded leather he now wore. Muttering a few words he unleashed the power of the aura magic at his command. The shaman fell, a holy white light emitting from its eyes and mouth. The paladin picked his drew a second stiletto that pinned a fallen to a tree. The three is remaining fallen backed away, betraying there cowardly nature. With another spell he finished one and the other two fled. He sighed. This could take longer than I thought.  
  
From his view on the hill, Wruendel could see the trees in the distance. We're out of the foothills at last. Behind him, the barbarian company, numbering twenty-six in all, jogged forward at a steady pace. Sammath, the second in command, came up the hill to where Wruendel stood. "Well druid.. What do you see" the big barbarian panted. "Trees." "Good. That means we're getting somewhere." Wruendel looked up, watching his ravens return. One landed on his shoulder, whispering in his ear. "What'd that bird see?" "Theres a small forest infested with demons." Of course. This is the evil the land feels. "How many?" "Thirty or so smaller demons, being led by what appear to magic demons." "Nothing we can't handle." Damn Barbarians. Always so arrogant. Wruendel hefted his double flails and called to his wolves. "All go scout out the forest, make sure there aren't more hiding." Sammath turned away muttering under his breath "damn druids."  
  
Balkor gazed at the forest in front of him sensing the demons within. Their hatred radiated out, unbalancing the forces of good and evil in the land. As a necromancer, he had dedicated his life to keeping balance in the opposing forces. He hissed an order in a hellish language to his undead minions then turned to hiss golem "Crush them." With that he drew his dirk and held it ready in one hand, his wand glowing in the other as it began a spell.  
  
Laor moved toward the forest carefully, one hand absent mindedly pawing at the stilettos. The fallen should have noticed him by now, but something was distracting them. The shaman looked as the they were mad shooting bolts of fire at shadows. What's going on? Suddenly there was a glint of metal, a flash of magic fire, and five of the fallen lay dead. Whatever was attacking the fallen was making sure it wasn't seen.  
Laor drew his longsword and flipped his targe from his back. He called on the aura thorns and charged into the fallen.  
  
As Balkor approached, he saw flashes of magic fire. A small feeling of courage and righteousness came from the wood. Someone got to them before I did. He ran to the front of his undead, hissed a command, and made a mad charge to the trees.  
  
12 of the barbarians went with Wruendel to the wood. They moved slowly, dodging there way across the small plain between the hills and the forest. As they reached the southern edge of the forest Sammath pulled them together for last minute orders "Alright I want Wruendel to lead six around to the east. Spread around behi "Sir, look!" Flashes were coming from the wood and there were muffled screaming. "Forget the plan, lads, charge!"  
  
Amid the chaos of the attack, Laor managed out find out three things. First, these were not your normal fallen. He could swear he'd gutted the same one three times. Second, the thing attacking the fallen was an assassin, and a good one. Finally, barbarians had an uncanny knack for turning up right when you need them. As he loped of another head, he discovered a fourth thing. An incredibly pale man, with a stick and dagger, was leading undead in an attack against the fallen. As soon as most of the fallen were dead, or appeared to be any way, the remaining fallen fled though forest pursued by three huge wolves.  
Laor moved to the barbarian and shook the largest hand. "I am Laor, paladin of Zakarum order." "I am Sammath, Barbarian warrior of the Shadow Wolf clan." "I, figured you were from the Shadow Wolf clan by your axe" Laor said, nodding toward the great axe Sammath carried. "You've met barbarians before?" "I've seen a few in my travels." Laor turned to the pale man. "Don't greet me formally, I do not hold with your silly traditions. I am Balkor, a necromancer, sworn to keep balance within the world." Laor stared at the necromancer, with hatred growing in his eyes. "Where has that Druid got to" Sammath muttered, looking around. "I'm right here." "Wruendel?" Laor said with anew emotion filling him. "Laor!" Wruendel shouted happily running over and gripping the paladin by his forearm. "It's been a long time old friend." "Indeed it has." Laor laughed, then stopped and stood listening. "What?" "That assassin's gone." Uneasiness settled upon the group. "We should get going. Theres a Rogue encampment nearby where we can get food and rest." "Right. Mien, go back and tell the rest to break camp. We're going to travel with the paladin to the encampment." 


	2. Followers

The shadows had always been friendly to Narsia the assassin, keeping her protected and hidden. The Shadow Disciplines she'd learned helped, but it seemed to her that the shadows were just friendly. Of course, they seemed to have failed me or I wouldn't be here.  
Narsia had been following a sorceress east from Westmarch, waiting for a chance to strike, but this sorceress was cautious. When she stopped she put up a protection spell, but that wasn't necessary since she never slept. Narsia had waited and watched, being mindful of the skills she'd learned.  
Then the fallen had attacked. She killed them easily with simple traps, but they rose again, there deformed and mutilated bodies joining together. She had lost the sorceresses trail and had been forced to take refuge in a forest where the fallen had surrounded her. A paladin had come dashing into the forest, hacking the fallen to pieces with its longsword. She had managed to flee back to a safe distance and watched as barbarians charged through the wood finishing off the fallen. She had heard enough of their talk to know they were headed to the rogue encampment. She listened carefully to their words and for the first time since leaving Duncraig she doubted if she had the right target. What if I was sent to kill these men? The prophecy was unclear of whom to kill. Just that they would follow the path in the path of evil.  
  
"Well, now that you know who we are, do you trust enough to enter?" Laor stood, drenched in rainwater, arguing with the rogue guard. "We've answered all your questions, so let us in!" "I'll have to tell Akara. When cant just let a bunch of strange men wander through camp. Rhea, go tell Akara there are foreign travelers who claim they come to kill the demons." Laor and his companions traveled together for two days, heading for the rogue encampment. It had rained constantly for both of those days, which made traveling harder. Rhea returned and whispered to the guard, who turned back to the travelers. "You'll have to leave your weapons here." "I won't leave my wand in the hands of these fools" Balkor said, contempt rising in his voice. "Do not press their hospitality, necromancer, or we will leave you in the mud and let you skulk here" Laor replied. Balkor turned to the guard. "Keep it well, or you will find yourself in worse pain than can be imagined."  
  
Lera watched the strange company enter the rogue encampment. She studied each of them. A large group of barbarians strode through the camp, the huge men unmistakable as outsiders. But the barbarians were not the interesting or even strangest of the group. A man of eastern decent easily determined by the darkness of his skin, and a man wrapped in animal pelts with strange orange hair. The easterner can only be a paladin with a sword like that. The men strode through camp, eyed suspiciously by the rogue inhabitants. Lera turned and sighed. These rogues will never trust anyone from outside their realm, men especially.  
Lera was a tall proud woman. If her raven black hair and green sorceress robes did not betray her for a s one of the Zann Esu, then her staff, covered with runes, did. Lera had come to Khanduras to finish her training. She had gotten much more. The first day out from Duncraig she had found she was being followed. Her immediate thought had been highwaymen, who would have been easy enough to deal with. But as she traveled on it became apparent that a thief would have long ago given up. Lera was more cautious then.  
Lera kept her eyes on the travelers, watching them weave their way the tents. They split up, the barbarians heading for the smithy and inn, the paladin and the other man heading for Akara, the leader of the rogues. Lera followed the paladin keeping a fair distance; curious of what business this follower of Zakarum had with the warrior maidens of the west.  
  
"Your coming here is far from timely, but it is welcome all the same" Akara told Laor as he explained his company's coming. "About four months ago, a great evil entered the rogue citadel. The great demoness Andariel is holding the passage east shut for her master, Diablo. While we cannot hold with this defilement, there is little we can do. Andariel raises are own dead against us, mocking us by giving them back the weapons they used in life. To stem further loss of life I have ordered Kashya to not allow rogues to leave the camp." Laor took at the mention of Diablo Laor blanched. So the Three are loose again. Or at least one of them is. Laor turned to Wruendel. "What do you think the barbarians are going to do?" "You can ask them your self." Wruendel nodded to Sammath, who was returning form the smithy. When he arrived, Laor explained what had happened. "There's no question really is there? This is why we came, are expedition would be pointless if we went home now" Sammath replied when Laor questioned his intent. All right then. We'll go to the rogue citadel and crush this evil before it has time to spread." "You'll find it harder than that" said a voice in the shadows. A sorceress appeared and approached Laor. "You're a paladin aren't you? I am Lera, sorceress of the third class." "Obviously you've picked up our names." "All but your pale friend." Lera nodded toward Balkor, who was skulking in the shadows. " I am Balkor, student of the arcane arts." "A necromancer. For paladin you keep strange company" Lera said to Laor, her lip curling in disdain. " I did not come to talk to you so I could critique your company, however. You will need help getting through the wilderness alive." "I think my barbarians can handle themselves" Sammath replied haughtily. Laor turned to Sammath. "We should not so lightly refuse the skills of a sorceress" Laor whispered in Sammath's ear. Laor turned back to Lera. "We would be glad of your company." He bowed slightly. "Then, I would suggest we stay here until the morrow, when we can set out fresh." "A good plan." Laor again bowed ever so slightly. A sorceress offering her skills. This is almost unheard of.  
  
At dawn the company left, cheered on by a few, hopeful rogues. But there leaving was not just marked by the rogues. A slit pair of bright green eyes watched them from the cover of the forest surrounding the rogue encampment. The eyes followed the in travelers wake marking and remembering each of the troop now numbering thirty. Now I have them all together. Narsia the assassin had her target at last. 


	3. Long Road

Authors note: I hath returned, and am wiser for my long absence. Hopefully now that I'm not running in circles anymore I actually get something done. I rewrote this chapter because I needed development of characters before plunging into the climax. And I am NOT going to right a disclaimer. The world already knows I don't own Diablo, or any Blizzard games.  
  
The small rabbit as it nibbled on grass stems, unaware of the green eyes that watched it. Narsia crept closer, unsheathing the curved knife she mockingly called a hunting knife. She was crouched inches away from the small beast, when it perked up its ears. But it was too late. Narsia grabbed the creature's ears and cut its throat.  
Narsia thought back to the first time she had tried this. The rabbit had heard ten feet away and scampered off. But then she had been an apprentice, and did not understand the skills necessary for such a feat. With this thought others came, such as why she was even here, so far east of her homeland.  
As a child, Narsia loved to play in the forset around her home in the foothills of Westmarch. To fell the fallen leaves under her bare feet, to run among the trees, it was all she ever knew. She blissfully unaware of the world outside those forests. She stayed there wrapped in her own childish innocence until she was nine years old.  
  
_And then the dreams came._  
  
She started having odd dreams. At first they were no more threatening than strange people garbed in black riding through her woods. But they became violent. The riders would burn the forest, destroying the small village that lay nestled in the hillside, cutting down its inhabitants mercilessly. Being so young, and never having seen such pointless slaughter, the dreams distressed Narsia. They distressed her even more when they stared coming true.  
  
Sammath watched Laor disappear the mist, as he searched for the waypoint. Sammath liked the paladin, who seemed to have a large sense of humor for a holy knight of the order of Zakarum. Still, something about the man made Sammath uneasy. When he had asked Wruendel about him, his answer had not been helpful.  
  
"I met him a few years back in Entsteig, chasing a group of fallen. He was a little bit more solemn then, and never said much. A guess after some of the horrors he's seen, he decided it was either lighten up, or go mad."  
  
Sammath may have had some doubts about Laor, but he had even greater ones about his other companions. The sorceress only spoke when plans were made, and the necromancer never spoke at all. He trusted the sorceress only because of the oath of the Zann Esu. The necromancer, however, had no such bond to make him trustworthy, but he seemed to be in the right.  
  
_At the moment, at least._  
  
Slowly the fog lifted and Sammath could see the glimmer of blue flames. As the group moved toward the waypoint, dark shafts flew at them from behind, hitting a barbarian.  
  
_Damn it, not again.  
_  
The undead rogues charged the group. The first fell, its chest incinerated by a fireball. The skeletons and barbarians bringing up the rear of the company engaged the rest. Sammath drew the Giant Axe he carried from its leather holder on his back and charged into the fray, shouting the Shadow Wolf Clan battle cry. A dark lancer charged him, thrusting upward with the long pole. Sammath brought his axe down on the shaft, breaking it to splinters. He swung his axe through the midsection of his foe, ripping the maggot-ridden flesh. He parried a sword slash from a second adversary, then brought up his axe handle, breaking the undead rogue's jaw.  
The skirmish ended quickly enough, with two barbarians wounded and one skeleton scattered across the field.  
  
"Come on, the waypoints up ahead, we can get supplies from the rogues," Laor said, wiping his longsword off on a tuft of grass.  
  
They gathered at they waypoint, and in a split second the scene changed from a damp, marshy plain, to the wooden walled, wagon filled Rogue Encampment. The group separated, each going to whatever merchant they favored. Sammath saw that the injured barbarians were taken to Akara. He then set out for the shabby tent that was used as a sort of inn.  
The Barbarian sat at one of the smaller tables, away from the other patrons of the inn, many of them his own men. Sammath gazed out of the tent, watching as light drizzle came down, washing over the wooden walls of the encampment. He thought of his home. All his life he had spent roaming the highlands, going in and out of Harrogath, trying to gather stories for his sister, Monaelia. She was rather eccentric, and rather clumsy, but could find reason in the chaos of the barbarian world. She had been trying to compile a history for the barbarians. She had once said, " History teaches us how to live, its shows us our previous mistakes, and inspires us. But most importantly, it keeps are way of life alive." Barbarians, while living a life that required constant work and effort, had a thirst for knowledge. The library of Harrogath was said to rival that of the Zakarum capital of Kurast. But, being so closed from the rest of the world, barbarians were viewed as savage, stupid brutes only good for brute force. Since the world viewed them as such, Barbarians weren't to inclined to be friendly.  
  
"Ale?"  
  
Sammath looked up and saw Laor standing next to the table holding two mugs of ale. Sammath smiled and took one of the mugs.

"Ishkabaha."

"What?" Laor asked.

"It's from an old barbarian language. It means 'water of life'." The paladin chuckled as he sat down.

"Back in Kurast, while I was still being trained, we used to call it kim jien, 'the sustainer of hope'. But that was a long time ago."

The barbarian took a drink of the strong liquid, then returned his attention to his companion.

"You said you pent some time among barbarians. You wouldn't have happened to meet Lythe Dunbar?"

The paladin laughed and replied,"If you spend any time among barbarians, its hard not to meet possibly the friendliest of a race of people who are best known for being very closed. I saw the old windbag in Lut Gholein, keeping up his usual chatter. Why do you ask?"

Sammath sighed, and said, "Part of the reason we're here is to bring him back to Harrogath. He has some... Unfinished business." Laor waited for the Sammath to go on, Then realized he was talking to a barbarian, and it was a personal manner. He took a long swig of his ale the said, "Well, my mug is empty, and I think it's time I made up for lost sleep." Sammath hardly noticed as Laor got up and left, leaving him with his thoughts.  
  
"A thousand pieces of gold for a shoddy piece of workmanship like this?! You must be mad!" Roank yelled at the merchant, Gheed.  
  
"I'm perfectly sane and you'll not get this fine piece of craftsmanship off me for a penny less than one thousand."  
  
_Damned little thief this one is. But the rogues only have long range weapons. Maybe I can talk my way out of this.  
  
_"Listen, I need this gear to defeat Andariel and open up trade from the east. You'll make better profit selling it to me cheap so I can get the trade routes open."  
  
Gheed's eyes open wide with fear and became distant. He turned and stalked off in the direction of the waypoint.  
  
Roank stood stunned for a second, then shook his head in disgust.  
  
_Damn fool._  
  
Lera stood as with the rest of the company as they waited for the return of the scout.  
  
Is this fog ever going to let up?!  
  
They had been making slow progress through the Black Marsh, and the dense fog didn't help to speed them. The bog was full of irritating bugs and demons that had a knack of showing up at the worst times. The had been lucky, and there had only been small injuries.  
  
_At least this is better than having to see refugees.  
_  
In the Dark Forest and the Cold Plains, there had been terror-stricken survivors of decimated towns, most of who were half crazed. They had met a man who claimed to be the last Horadrim, and insisted on being taken to the Rouge Encampment at once. This man had seemed just as crazy as the rest, but Laor had followed his request. He had a kind of deep respect for the man it seemed, and had talk with him in length about the appearance of the Lesser Evil, Andariel. The paladin was sure that Diablo was bent on releasing his brothers.  
As for the sorceress, she was didn't know what to think. Like the paladin, she was part of an ancient religion based on the basic principle that evil had to be destroyed. Unlike the paladin, she wasn't driven by a zealous fervor. When she was chosen to be trained, she had twice the normal age. Although she showed tremendous talent, she had the "taint" of the outside world. While she knew magic was a strong force, she didn't believe life should be based on it. And while she knew that Prime Evil's should be destroyed, she didn't know if she could destroy them. She may have been talented in magic, but she didn't like it. Casting magic made it fell as if part of your soul, your essence, had been taken away. It left you hollow inside. The other Zann Esu channeled this pain, used it to make themselves stronger. Lera let the pain grow, and instead of using it, she tried to push it away. All her life she had been taught to use magic, but she refused to embrace it.  
And now she was here, far from the quiet sanctuaries and temple of the Zann Esu, trying to keep hell within its borders. While the oracles had proclaimed this the time of the return of the Three, she had never thought that she would be sent to stop the demon lords.  
  
_Everything's moving too fast._  
  
Her thoughts were interrupted by the shouts of the scout, who was returning. He came into view running hard, his eyes filled with fear. Suddenly dark energy erupted from his chest and he fell, dead.  
  
Gheed the merchant stalked up, a horrible sneer on his face.

* * *

YEAHHHHHH! Maybe in another four months you'll get more plot. resolute bursts into flames just kidding! And sorry all, my computers being stupid and I can't review.


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